Second Time Around
by OffWhiteWalls
Summary: RyomaXSakuno- Sakuno finds an amnesiac guy with the perfect resemblance of what Echizen Ryoma might have looked like, given that he wasn't reportedly killed in an accident ten years ago. She's willing to hope again, as his body has never been discovered.


**Author's Note**

There's going to be a number of significant Ocs in here, as well as issues, but it's a RyomaXSakuno alright. Feel free to point out any blunders I make and I'd appreciate any constructive criticism that you'd leave.

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**Scene 1

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At the moment that Itsuki heard the words "that brat" he knew immediately that he was finally going to be either shoved or forced to jump into the deep shit. Hell, who wouldn't? People in the organization—new members strictly included—were well-aware of who "that brat" was:

Favorite of the big boss and the big boss' only daughter all the same. But he wasn't a favorite for nothing. He was praiseworthy in "things" he did, his cold-heartedness had perhaps contributed, and he was quite good-looking—either way he did get instant devotion from the big boss' only daughter. Nobody knew where he came from. Or at least, most of them obviously had no idea. The closest story was one day ten years ago he'd just popped into the organization as if he'd materialized from the thin air, brought in by the big boss himself.

In a nutshell, Itsuki could feel a rope beginning to wind around his neck, about to be _yanked_ and _twisted_ until it _cracked_.

He hated going undercover. Hell, he hated being a cop in the first place. He had no idea how he became one.

"Stand still." Tahara's hard voice ordered as he walked past.

Itsuki squirmed slightly, chewed the bubblegum in his mouth a few good times more, then stood as rigid as he could next to at least a dozen other men making a line in front of the opened double-door. The room they waited in was spacious and lavishly decorated, furnished with crystal chandeliers, a long mahogany table with intricately carved chairs and ornaments that exuded sophistication all around.

It wasn't impressive at all if you think about it. The organization was a branch of a larger organized crime syndicate, seemingly just a local gang—which really wasn't quite that simple. The "head" of it made fortunes from drugs-trafficking, arms-dealing, smuggling of illegal workers (particularly foreign young women who they made to work in the clubs as hostesses and you-name-it; Itsuki had had the "privilege" of going down one too many), local businesses' extortion, et cetera, et cetera. It was on "friendly terms" with some politicians and businessmen on mutual-benefits basis. It wasn't a wonder at all that its upper men lived ridiculously rich.

Overwhelmed with boredom, Itsuki blew his pink bubblegum as big as it would go until it popped. He almost swallowed it when a young man of exactly his own age appeared in the doorway. They stood right in front of each other, and he almost forgot to duck his head in respect, quickly moving along as the dozen other men next to him uttered a loud, simultaneous greeting and bowed at the young man.

Without as much a glimpse of acknowledgment, the young man a.k.a "that brat" as Tahara discreetly called him behind his back, nudged with his head at Itsuki in front of him.

"He'll be my next right-hand man." the young man decided.

Tahara threw Itsuki a sideways glance. That was, if you would call a clearly insulting sharp look _a glance_.

"Really now, Naoki. He's the newest member. Completely ignorant." Tahara said.

_Jeez, thanks for the promotion._ Itsuki rolled the bubblegum in his mouth silently.

The young man, a.k.a "that brat" a.k.a Naoki, turned his eyes briefly on Tahara, his face devoid of emotion.

"He'll be my next right-hand man." he repeated. "If he proves to be incompetent, I'll just pick another."

Uh-oh, so in order not to be thrown away like a ragged doll (highly-likely with some limbs missing) and be replaced, Itsuki was going to have to prove to "that brat" he was a quick-learner. He couldn't help wondering how long Naoki's last right-hand man had lasted.

It was almost visible that Tahara was fighting to keep his temper in check. Itsuki had heard of the man's intense dislike (corrosive jealousy) toward Naoki. It was the same old plot: Tahara had been in the organization longer, Tahara had served the big boss longer, but then the mysterious pretty boy Naoki had waltzed in and seized it all.

"Fine. Whatever you say." Tahara responded sharply.

Naoki turned his attention on Itsuki. He smiled, but it didn't reach his brown eyes.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Minoru Itsuki."

"A local?"

"I came from Osaka." Itsuki said, and what a humongous lie it was. His entire family-members were Tokyoites. His Australian-ethnic girlfriend was a Tokyoite. His cat was a Tokyoite. But for some stupid reason his fake profile said he came from Osaka, so.

"You don't speak like one." Naoki observed.

"I don't like to be laughed at for my dialect, so I try to get rid of it." Itsuki explained, speaking in the Osaka dialect to satisfy Naoki's scrutiny.

Naoki tilted his head slightly up, the gesture of someone who knew he was far more superior than the rest of them in the room.

"From now on, you're to follow me." he announced.

Dark-haired, brown-eyed, wherever he'd come from, a long time ago he might have been a couple's son somewhere, a now young woman's first love somewhere.

But as the entire members of the organization knew it, Naoki was going to become their next big boss after his marriage to their current big boss' only daughter, which would be happening two months in the future.

Hands behind his back, Itsuki straightened, staring straight ahead.

"Yes."

He was a cop working undercover on the organization. The authorities had long itched to get its activities shut down.

But for all his past that Naoki had no memories of, he was neither just "the young man" nor "that brat" about to become the leader to one of the largely influential criminal organization in Japan, he had been the thirteen-years-old tennis prodigy mistakenly thought to be dead ten years ago.

Echizen Ryoma.

Itsuki had been told it wouldn't matter whether he brought "the kid" back now. Highly-likely they'd lost him. The Echizen couple definitely had no idea about this new progress on their son as it had been a sudden discovery, shocking to the police force itself.

"_He's lost his memory and he's been living in that kind of surrounding for ten years… It's a long time; we can't possibly say he's Echizen Ryoma anymore."_ Itsuki's chief had told him. _"In the end when things come to a closure, you two might even have to kill each other to get out of the game."_

Itsuki wasn't a naïve. If the situation really called for it, he knew the one he would have to kill wouldn't be Echizen Ryoma. It would be Naoki.

**xXxOxOxXx**

The heat was intense, the fulgent pattern of sunlight almost blinding.

Sakuno took another deep, shaky breath, her right fist pressed firmly to her mouth as her eyes flickered everywhere around her. In the sea of people, in the middle of a myriad of tall buildings and honking of flashy cars, she began to feel lightheaded.

She knew it had been him just now. It had definitely been him.

"Where are you?" Sakuno whispered. Desperate and hopeful, she took a few unsteady steps, trying to find just that one particular face among thousands others bustling in the streets—and then suddenly someone crashed into her from behind.

The strap over her shoulder ripped. Before she knew it, a guy was making a run with her handbag right in front of her eyes.

Sakuno staggered, staring at the snatch-thief guy in a daze. No one in the streets gave as much as a glance to the event, passing by in a blur. She knew the snatch-thief guy was taking away her handbag—with a purse and a mobile phone and a notebook and a pen and a handkerchief and a number of other items in it—and she knew she was supposed to at least scream for somebody to get it back for her. But she couldn't summon herself to react.

_Ryoma-kun._

It was the only thing that kept repeating in Sakuno's mind. His name, his face, his voice. They were all coming back to her like a full-blown shock, just like the news of his death had struck her ten years ago.

"_Stop_! You big oaf!"

A shout of a female voice cut through Sakuno's trance. She blinked back to the present when a blond woman in short blue jeans and a pink tank top ran past. Her long, slim legs gave a determined chase of the snatch-thief guy, who looked back nervously once or twice across the busy street. The woman was wearing high-heels. Grudgingly she stopped, taking off her black stilettos—and then she threw one of them confidently (and frighteningly hard) toward the snatch-thief guy.

It flew and flipped in the air—smacking the snatch-thief guy on the back of his head. Sakuno's handbag was flung out of his hands, and he dropped face-first on the asphalt, where he sprawled limp and completely motionless.

Some by-standers who were watching positively cringed.

The blond woman sighed with a smile of satisfaction. She turned to raise her thumb at Sakuno. From her looks, there was no mistake she was a Westerner.

"Don't worry! I've got him!" she yelled over in fluent Japanese.

Sakuno _was_ actually very worried, but she smiled weakly and nodded the woman her thank you.

Hopefully the snatch-thief guy was still alive.

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**Author's 2nd Note**

So was the first chapter OK? -_-


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